No One Left Behind
by Raindrop Ninja
Summary: HetaOni. Lyrics from the song 'Buonanotte all'Italia.' 'Che si fa o si muore,' Grandpa had sang. 'That either you make it or die.' Italy's hand squeezed the German's, sleeping beside him. He would get out, with everyone else. He couldn't afford to die again. They would all make it out and have a party at Japan's house. That's why he had to survive. "We'll make it out together."


Italy lay there wide awake, as usual. Between his brother and his best friend, both sleeping soundly, he remained far from such respite, rigid and listening for any sound, any sound at all. Anything that would tell him to get up and go. Not run; rather, fight. Let it take him first. Save his friends. They could all get out, couldn't they? He knew they would.

Yet he felt traitorous for thinking these thoughts. There was no way he could do that- not anymore. Hadn't he and everyone else promised to all get out together? And when they got out, they would all have a party at Japan's house and eat pasta and have fun and sleep on futons! Besides which, the rest of the world- truly- was outside waiting for them. Helping them. The cakes were getting cold; so they had to get out soon, said Austria.

Italy allowed himself a small smile and stared up at the ceiling, high above them. With no lighting, and in the dark of night- he could tell it was night, because there was no light coming through the small hole in the chimney fond,- it seemed to stretch up forever into blackness. Maybe stars even lay in wait there…

He shook his head, resisting the urge to release a bitter laugh at these torturous thoughts. There was no way; he would be able to feel the rain that seemed to perpetually skitter on the roof. And even were the roof to be open, they could never escape that way, so high. Hell, it would probably be waiting for them up there. He felt a shiver; if the roof were open, the Oni could jump down on them from above and attack them. Half-asleep and caught by surprise, they wouldn't stand a chance. Suddenly he was very, very glad the roof was closed. He could hear the rain. It sounded like thousands of little creatures pattering around the roof, creatures that were trying to break through and get to them-

A shudder ran through the Italian and he rolled over onto his side to look at Hol- Germany. He sighed as he watched the other nation sleep. But then, they weren't nations in here, were they? They could die at any time, as England had said. Which was why Italy had to remain like this-

Alert (sleepless),

Watchful (paranoid),

Ready (fidgety).

Those words whispered in his head, but as did their counterparts, and he shivered. What if he was just delusioned? Could a nation have a mental disorder? Well, yes, if Russia or Belarus were any indication. But then, everyone else had seen the Oni too. They'd seen it chase them, felt its attacks slash across them, experienced the semi-satisfaction of their weapons renting its image asunder. And before, in the previous loops- the many times before this that they had come here- they'd felt the hopelessness of seeing their friends brutally killed, and of being incapacitated themselves. The hopelessness of not being able to do anything against that monster.

That's why Italy had to keep this vigil every night. It didn't matter that his body cried out from lack of sleep, or that fatigue would show on his features in the morning. But every time he slept, his memories would slowly slip away. If he slept, not only would he be unable to protect his friends if the Oni found them- but he wouldn't remember when it was supposed to appear, where the first aid kit was- though that would be a rather futile effort against anything,- who was supposed to die first, who he came with this time, who else could turn back time…

That's right. Even if Italy were to die, the others could still turn back the clock again. They wouldn't take any other outcome; they would escape all together or not at all. He could tell that much from the hardness in their eyes and the determination in their voices when they'd made the pact. That knowledge gave him conflicting feelings. It made him feel happy, yet guilty. Warm, but with an undertone of ice lacing that warmth.

If he slept, he'd also gradually lose his memories from before coming to this cursed place. His childhood, working in Austria's house, all of the fun things he did with Grandpa Rome, the Wars, the reunion with Romano, Germany finding him in a tomato crate at the beginning of World War I, the strict training he underwent with Japan, the baby sea turtles, being stranded on the island of Seychelles with Germany and Japan, his first introduction to Japan, his nightmares about Russia, the rumors spread by England and France, the first time he'd eaten pasta…

And of course, Holy Roman Empire. Italy's amber eyes swirled with a slow longing at the thought of his childhood love. And now his best friend. As he quietly watched the sleeping German next to him, he couldn't help reaching out a hand and placing it lightly over his. He wanted to take Germany's hand in both of his and hold it against his cheek, just to make sure he was really there. But he didn't dare disturb his best friend, not with how tranquil he looked. There was little enough peace for any of them recently.

As Italy gazed at Germany's peaceful face, he couldn't help a slow fear growing within him, gradually becoming a steady churning feeling in his stomach. He looked awfully still. In the darkness, he could hardly make out whether or not the Aryan was breathing. He clenched his eyes closed against the grinding panic within him, but he couldn't block out the horrible possibility playing in his head.

The Italian sat bolt upright, scarcely daring to breathe lest he should miss something. But he saw no movement from the German. Another wave of fear washed over him, and before he could stop himself, he reached out to lightly shake the other nation's shoulder. "Germany!" he whispered, his voice sounding half frantic. "Germany!"

Sky blue eyes slowly blinked open, appearing cobalt in the darkness they struggled to adjust to. "Mn?" Germany blinked slowly again and propped himself up on one arm, rubbing the other across his eyes quickly before looking up at Italy. "Oh, Italy? What's the matter?" he asked, his voice sounding tired.

Italy exhaled a relieved sigh and fought hard against the impulse to embrace his best friend, to tell him everything he knew, to tell him who he used to be, to tell him how he felt. But that would hardly be rational at this point, this late at night, in this situation. He managed to decide against it, instead staying silent.

"…Did you have a nightmare?" Germany asked quietly.

Finally, Italy spoke. "S-Si." He figured that the other man could probably tell that he was lying, but right now he didn't really care, or feel anything besides an all-consuming relief. He couldn't stand to lose him for a second time.

A sigh reached his ears as Germany laid back down. "It's only a dream. You should go back to sleep." As Italy lay down again, the German added, sounding a bit- shy?- "…I'm here if you need me."

Italy blinked before a small smile spread across his face. "Okay. Grazie, Germany," he replied. He laid on his side, looking over at his friend, who had already closed his eyes. Slowly, Italy reached out a hand, lightly grasping Germany's. He thought he saw the Aryan stiffen a bit before gradually relaxing again with a sigh, wrapping his hand around Italy's.

Italy's smile broadened and he felt truly sleepy. He had almost drifted off when he heard Romano from behind him, half-humming and half-singing a tune that he recognized from his childhood. It was a song that Grandpa Rome had often sung to them at bedtime.

"_Buonanotte all'Italia, che si fa o si muore_

_O si passa la notte _

_A volerla comprare…"_

At these words, another small shudder ran through the Italian. Yet the words also lit a determined light within him, and it shone in his eyes as he gazed upon Germany's sleeping face. '_Che si fa o si muore'_. 'That either you make it or die'. The gravity of those words had never truly hit him until now.

He would make it. He had to. He would make it out along with everyone else. There was no way he would die again in this place. His hand squeezed the German's beside him. _'We'll make it out together.'_


End file.
